Permission to reproduce this article has to be obtained from Hindustan Times
Despite widespread philandering, marriages in Bollywood survive for various reasons
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
Actress Deepti Naval sips a cup of tea at the Oceania café in Hotel Searock at Bandra on a cloudy Wednesday morning. I am meeting with her to talk about marriages in Bollywood, which has come into the spotlight, following the suicide of actor Navin Nischol’s wife Gitanjali.
Naval, who is dressed in a white T-shirt and jeans and leather heels, had been married to director Prakash Jha for six years “on paper but we lived together for just one and a half years.” After that, Jha moved off to Delhi while Naval remained behind in Mumbai. There is a daughter, Disha, (18), who flits between both parent’s homes. “When I was younger, I wanted more attention,” she says, explaining the reasons behind the break-up. “It was difficult for me to understand the things that drove him. We parted without a single scene of shouting at each other. It was traumatic, not at the time of the break-up, but afterwards. If I had married Prakash ten years later, when I was more mature, I would have made an absolute go of it.”
But she says she has no regrets and that is obvious from her easy smile and glowing face. “Today, Prakash and I are the best of friends and have a wonderful equation,” she says.
There are other couples who have a good equation: Amitabh and Jaya Bachchan; Rishi and Neetu Kapoor; Mansur Ali Khan Pataudi and Sharmila Tagore; Anil and Tina Munim; Javed Akhtar and Shabana Azmi. “It is not that they have all had smooth marriages,” says Tabassum, former actor and television host. “There have been rough patches but that is there in every life.” But some marriages have failed to survive the rough patches: Boney and Mona Kapoor; Randhir and Babita Kapoor; Rajesh and Dimple Khanna; Saif Ali Khan and Amrita Singh, to name a few.
The problem in Bollywood is that men and women are thrown into close proximity because of the nature of the profession. “It is natural when you are in the company of your ‘beautiful’ co-stars, the forbidden fruit syndrome comes into play,” says director Mahesh Bhatt, by phone from Goa.
Says an effervescent Pretti Jaiin, at a Barista outlet in Versova: “If a husband and wife are working in Bollywood, both would be meeting good-looking people all the time. The possibility of getting attracted elsewhere is that much higher, and the chances of the marriage surviving is difficult.”
So what happens when a wife discovers that the husband is sleeping around? “Some wives do not want to jeopardise the sense of security, the emotional link, the children, the property, the lifestyle and the power,” says Bhatt. “So, they prefer to deal with a philandering husband rather than opt out and choose a life of oblivion and a scaled down lifestyle. Some wives hope that the erring husband will come to his senses.”
Jaiin feels most wives develop an apathy after a while. “Initially, they might have fought over the philandering but after a while, when the husband does not stop, they just get tired,” she says. “I have seen pain in the eyes of a lot of married women in Bollywood.”
Naval tells a story of the wife of a philandering star, who was intelligent and independent. If she wanted, she could have walked out but she didn’t. “For a few years I lost respect for her but later when I matured I realised she was wiser,” says Naval. “Because, to destroy a family, to let the children let their lives go haywire, was too much of a price to pay. Wives stick around because they feel they are the fulcrum of a marriage. To shake the institution just because her husband is having an affair is not worth it.”
So, it is clear marriages in Bollywood are under different types of pressures, as compared to other marriages. “In normal marriages, there is so much of sharing with each other,” says Hema Malini. “Right from the time you get up and have tea or coffee together, then you send your husband for work, wait for him to return and then go out in the evenings. My brothers and their wives have such good marriages. I don’t think this happens in Bollywood.”
So what is Hema Malini’s advice to a young woman who is planning to get married to somebody from Bollywood? “Wives should try to be better looking than the heroines the husband is meeting all the time,” she says. “When he comes home, she has to be nice to him, no fighting or nagging, so he is no longer interested in going out anywhere. There should also be unconditional love, which young women don’t seem to have these days.”
Monday, May 22, 2006
‘Viewers are accepting interesting subjects’
Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained fim Hindustan Times
INTERVIEW/APARNA SEN
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
“My throat is hoarse, I can’t seem to talk any more,” exclaims Aparna Sen, as she finishes a clutch of television interviews and, immediately, another batch of microphones are placed in front of her. She takes a long sip of water, clears her throat, remains silent for a few moments and is soon ready for the next round.
Her seventh feature film, 15 Park Avenue, starring Rahul Bose, her daughter Konkona Sen, Shabana Azmi, Waheeda Rahman and Soumitra Chatterjee, has just been released. It deals with a girl who suffers from schizophrenia and the strange relationship she has with an older half-sister.
This is Sen’s 25th year as a director, her first film being the critically acclaimed 36 Chowringhee Lane. Apart from winning national and international awards at film festivals, she has won the Padmi Shri and the Satyajit Ray Lifetime Achievement Award from the Cine Central Film Society.
Excerpts from the interview:
Which is more exciting: acting or directing.
Directing. When you are acting, you are interpreting somebody else’s vision. But when you are directing, it is your vision. You obviously have been excited about it; otherwise, you would not go to the trouble of directing it.
Where do you get your story ideas?
From life. You might notice something and at that time, you might not think about it and then it comes back to you after three months. It is a magical thing.
How has Satyajit Ray influenced you?
He has influenced me and a whole generation of filmmakers the way a parent influences a child. He was the big figure. The point now is not to imitate him and that has been my endeavour.
How have you evolved in 25 years of directing?
Earlier, I was more concerned with everyday reality and stories that were set within it. But now, I am getting more interested in other kinds of realities, like at the end of 15 Park Avenue, there is a transcendence, a kind of surreal leap where you go on to another plane of reality.
15 Park Avenue is a street in Calcutta. What is the significance in the movie?
There is no Park Avenue. That is the whole point of the movie. There is a character in the film who searches for this address. Whether it exists or not, and which plane of reality it exists, that is the point of the film.
You have mentioned that this is your most honest film. What do you mean by that?
It is based on a real life person, whose identity I cannot divulge. But that person looks for an address.
You are lifting it straight from reality.
You never lift straight from reality. You are inspired by a real life incident and then your imagination takes over.
How different is this film from the earlier ones, like Paroma, Yuganta, Sati and Mr and Mrs Iyer ?
Every film is different from each other.
You try to find something different?
No, I don’t have to try. If you are trying to be honest, if you are trying to be true to the character, the artistic vision in the film, then it is bound to be different.
15 Park Avenue explores an urban sensibility. Will it appeal to the general public?
I hope so. Obviously, our kind of film is not for the general audience who go to the mainstream Hindi cinema. Although, more and more, the dividing line between mainstream and the so-called art film is blurring. Nowadays, viewers are accepting interesting subjects. It is an exciting time and all kinds of films are being made. And I think that is very encouraging.
Working with an actress who is also your daughter. Does it lead to conflicts?
There are no conflicts. We are very close.
What are your future plans?
I want to make a comedy that I have already written. I have also joined a Kolkata TV channel as a creative director and I want to make something of it.
INTERVIEW/APARNA SEN
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
“My throat is hoarse, I can’t seem to talk any more,” exclaims Aparna Sen, as she finishes a clutch of television interviews and, immediately, another batch of microphones are placed in front of her. She takes a long sip of water, clears her throat, remains silent for a few moments and is soon ready for the next round.
Her seventh feature film, 15 Park Avenue, starring Rahul Bose, her daughter Konkona Sen, Shabana Azmi, Waheeda Rahman and Soumitra Chatterjee, has just been released. It deals with a girl who suffers from schizophrenia and the strange relationship she has with an older half-sister.
This is Sen’s 25th year as a director, her first film being the critically acclaimed 36 Chowringhee Lane. Apart from winning national and international awards at film festivals, she has won the Padmi Shri and the Satyajit Ray Lifetime Achievement Award from the Cine Central Film Society.
Excerpts from the interview:
Which is more exciting: acting or directing.
Directing. When you are acting, you are interpreting somebody else’s vision. But when you are directing, it is your vision. You obviously have been excited about it; otherwise, you would not go to the trouble of directing it.
Where do you get your story ideas?
From life. You might notice something and at that time, you might not think about it and then it comes back to you after three months. It is a magical thing.
How has Satyajit Ray influenced you?
He has influenced me and a whole generation of filmmakers the way a parent influences a child. He was the big figure. The point now is not to imitate him and that has been my endeavour.
How have you evolved in 25 years of directing?
Earlier, I was more concerned with everyday reality and stories that were set within it. But now, I am getting more interested in other kinds of realities, like at the end of 15 Park Avenue, there is a transcendence, a kind of surreal leap where you go on to another plane of reality.
15 Park Avenue is a street in Calcutta. What is the significance in the movie?
There is no Park Avenue. That is the whole point of the movie. There is a character in the film who searches for this address. Whether it exists or not, and which plane of reality it exists, that is the point of the film.
You have mentioned that this is your most honest film. What do you mean by that?
It is based on a real life person, whose identity I cannot divulge. But that person looks for an address.
You are lifting it straight from reality.
You never lift straight from reality. You are inspired by a real life incident and then your imagination takes over.
How different is this film from the earlier ones, like Paroma, Yuganta, Sati and Mr and Mrs Iyer ?
Every film is different from each other.
You try to find something different?
No, I don’t have to try. If you are trying to be honest, if you are trying to be true to the character, the artistic vision in the film, then it is bound to be different.
15 Park Avenue explores an urban sensibility. Will it appeal to the general public?
I hope so. Obviously, our kind of film is not for the general audience who go to the mainstream Hindi cinema. Although, more and more, the dividing line between mainstream and the so-called art film is blurring. Nowadays, viewers are accepting interesting subjects. It is an exciting time and all kinds of films are being made. And I think that is very encouraging.
Working with an actress who is also your daughter. Does it lead to conflicts?
There are no conflicts. We are very close.
What are your future plans?
I want to make a comedy that I have already written. I have also joined a Kolkata TV channel as a creative director and I want to make something of it.
Still in the shade
Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained from Hindustan Times
Handicrafts, made of bamboo, are yet to catch on
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
Lata Medar sits on the floor in a room in Boiwada. There are stacks of paper toasters, plates, placemats, trays, lampshades, dustbins and hairclips, all made of bamboo, placed at one side. She belongs to the Medar community as do her colleagues Rupa and Vijaya. With the help of the NGO, Youth for Unity and Voluntary Action (YUVA), they have set up a co-operative to make and sell bamboo products. So far, there are only five volunteers even though when you step outside, there are 200 families of the Medar community living nearby. The Medars, who are originally from Karnataka, have been bamboo weavers for generations but they only make fish baskets. The community fell into hard times when plastics entered the market in a big way.
“It is a conservative community,” says Rohit Shinde, field convenor for Chaitanya. “The womenfolk are supposed to stay inside. It was with great difficulty that we managed to convince the parents of these girls to send them here.”
Before these girls started making these products, they received training from the Industrial Design Centre (IDC) at the Indian Institute of Technology, Powai. “They are trained to make bamboo strips in uniform size, using small gadgets like width sizer (a small machine),” says Prof. A.G. Rao of the IDC. “Following that is the treatment of the bamboo. This is done by boiling bamboo strips with borax, boric acid and alum. The idea is to prevent insect attacks and fungus.” Training is given on the use of moulds, which can give exact shapes and they are also taught quality control. “For example, if a strip is bad, they will not throw it away,” says Rao. “The whole product becomes a waste, because of the poor quality of just one strip.” They learn how to estimate the materials required for a product and how to use colouring with natural dyes like haldi, katha and tea. “We have also introduced them to the concepts of packing, modularity, transportation and costing,” says Rao.
The products have been kept in shops in Colaba, Dadar and Bandra. “The sale has been consistent,” says Bejoy Davis, programme co-ordinator for YUVA. “People have liked the products.” Asked about what problems the cooperative faces, he says the cost of the products are high because it is made by hand. “It is only a small segment of the population that accepts bamboo as a handicraft option. But in places like Colaba, people are not worried about the price but the quality.”
Rao has been involved with the propagation of bamboo craftsmanship for the past 20 years. He has travelled all over the country conducting workshops where tool kits and other supports are given to the participants. As he takes me around the workshop where various products are up on display, I express shock at the prices he mentions: Rs 150, Rs 200, Rs 300, all the way up to Rs 800. Seeing my reaction he says, “Nowadays, people don’t mind paying Rs 200 for a pizza. We should not look at handmade things as a cheap alternative. It has to be seen as a cultural asset. If we pay low prices, these craftsmen will not survive.”
Suitably chastened, I nod quickly in agreement. “What we are finding is that the market is there but we are unable to supply the requisite number of items,” he says. Rao tells the story of how, for a seminar, an official wanted a supply of 1000 bamboo pens. “We did not have so many pens in storage.” On another occasion, when he was in America, he met an Indian businessman who sold gift packs of perfumes. The professor suggested to the businessman he could put the perfumes in bamboo baskets. The businessmen agreed and immediately placed an order for 2 million baskets. “I looked at him amazed and he said that I had a lot of ideas but I needed to organise myself first before canvassing for orders,” says Rao, with a smile. “The irony is that sometime earlier, I was in Tripura and the craftsmen were complaining they had no orders and here I had an order for 2 million. So this is one gap, which has to be bridged.” To that end, he is planning to set up a company and like most people, he realises that salvation lies abroad. “There, they value handmade work,” he says. “In Europe, they no longer want industrial, mass made products. The world over, they are looking for bamboo items. Small countries like the Philippines, which is just the size of Orissa, exports $1 billion worth of baskets. We need to innovate and organise ourselves.”
Handicrafts, made of bamboo, are yet to catch on
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
Lata Medar sits on the floor in a room in Boiwada. There are stacks of paper toasters, plates, placemats, trays, lampshades, dustbins and hairclips, all made of bamboo, placed at one side. She belongs to the Medar community as do her colleagues Rupa and Vijaya. With the help of the NGO, Youth for Unity and Voluntary Action (YUVA), they have set up a co-operative to make and sell bamboo products. So far, there are only five volunteers even though when you step outside, there are 200 families of the Medar community living nearby. The Medars, who are originally from Karnataka, have been bamboo weavers for generations but they only make fish baskets. The community fell into hard times when plastics entered the market in a big way.
“It is a conservative community,” says Rohit Shinde, field convenor for Chaitanya. “The womenfolk are supposed to stay inside. It was with great difficulty that we managed to convince the parents of these girls to send them here.”
Before these girls started making these products, they received training from the Industrial Design Centre (IDC) at the Indian Institute of Technology, Powai. “They are trained to make bamboo strips in uniform size, using small gadgets like width sizer (a small machine),” says Prof. A.G. Rao of the IDC. “Following that is the treatment of the bamboo. This is done by boiling bamboo strips with borax, boric acid and alum. The idea is to prevent insect attacks and fungus.” Training is given on the use of moulds, which can give exact shapes and they are also taught quality control. “For example, if a strip is bad, they will not throw it away,” says Rao. “The whole product becomes a waste, because of the poor quality of just one strip.” They learn how to estimate the materials required for a product and how to use colouring with natural dyes like haldi, katha and tea. “We have also introduced them to the concepts of packing, modularity, transportation and costing,” says Rao.
The products have been kept in shops in Colaba, Dadar and Bandra. “The sale has been consistent,” says Bejoy Davis, programme co-ordinator for YUVA. “People have liked the products.” Asked about what problems the cooperative faces, he says the cost of the products are high because it is made by hand. “It is only a small segment of the population that accepts bamboo as a handicraft option. But in places like Colaba, people are not worried about the price but the quality.”
Rao has been involved with the propagation of bamboo craftsmanship for the past 20 years. He has travelled all over the country conducting workshops where tool kits and other supports are given to the participants. As he takes me around the workshop where various products are up on display, I express shock at the prices he mentions: Rs 150, Rs 200, Rs 300, all the way up to Rs 800. Seeing my reaction he says, “Nowadays, people don’t mind paying Rs 200 for a pizza. We should not look at handmade things as a cheap alternative. It has to be seen as a cultural asset. If we pay low prices, these craftsmen will not survive.”
Suitably chastened, I nod quickly in agreement. “What we are finding is that the market is there but we are unable to supply the requisite number of items,” he says. Rao tells the story of how, for a seminar, an official wanted a supply of 1000 bamboo pens. “We did not have so many pens in storage.” On another occasion, when he was in America, he met an Indian businessman who sold gift packs of perfumes. The professor suggested to the businessman he could put the perfumes in bamboo baskets. The businessmen agreed and immediately placed an order for 2 million baskets. “I looked at him amazed and he said that I had a lot of ideas but I needed to organise myself first before canvassing for orders,” says Rao, with a smile. “The irony is that sometime earlier, I was in Tripura and the craftsmen were complaining they had no orders and here I had an order for 2 million. So this is one gap, which has to be bridged.” To that end, he is planning to set up a company and like most people, he realises that salvation lies abroad. “There, they value handmade work,” he says. “In Europe, they no longer want industrial, mass made products. The world over, they are looking for bamboo items. Small countries like the Philippines, which is just the size of Orissa, exports $1 billion worth of baskets. We need to innovate and organise ourselves.”
Killing her softly
Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained from The Hindustan Times
Social stigma prevents women alcoholics from seeking help
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
Terry Lewis is 74 years old but her face is unlined, and she looks years younger. It is difficult to believe that she has been an alcoholic for nearly 40 years. We are sitting in her spacious drawing room in Bandra, dominated by a wooden bookcase placed against one wall, with the obligatory TV set on one shelf. There is a sit-out, from where you can see a lawn and a couple of coconut trees.
Here is her story: Terry married an Englishman, when she was 20. “Michael was a regular drinker,” she says. “But I did not like the idea of drinking. But, as the saying goes, when you can’t beat them, you join them.”
Her late husband, who was 23 years older to her, was a senior manager in a multinational firm and moved in a social circle where everybody was drinking. “So I started to drink regularly,” she says. The childless couple lived in various parts of India and over several years Terry’s drinking deepened and she slipped into alcoholism. When they finally settled down in Bandra, Terry had got into the habit of imbibing from the morning.
“When Michael was in the kitchen, I would go around the corner to the cupboard where the booze was kept and have a swig,” she says. “Most of the time, it was straight from the bottle.”
Michael would plead with her to stop but to no avail. It was a friend who persuaded her to go to an Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meeting and it was there she met Lynette, who was 30 years younger, and a recovering alcoholic. “She was like a fairy godmother to me,” says Terry. “She would phone me in the mornings, afternoons and evenings, enquiring about me. She would take me for the meetings. You get the strength from the meetings and you come back and you don’t drink. But it was Lynette who gave me the courage to finally beat the addiction.”
It has been fourteen years since she has stopped “but it is still one day a time. I don’t think an alcoholic is ever sure. Because alcohol is ‘cunning, powerful and baffling.’ The fear of slipping is always there.”
Terry’s is a rare story, which had a happy ending. In Mumbai, there are hundreds of cases of women alcoholics, but nobody knows about them because to be labelled as an alcoholic is such a taboo in Indian society. As Terry says, “If you say a woman is a heavy drinker, it is accepted. If you say she is a boozer, it is accepted. But the moment you say, she is an alcoholic, there is a stigma attached to her.”
Lynette knows a lot about the stigma. “In my work with AA, I came to know of so many upper middle class women who are alcoholics,” she says. “The reasons are simple: either the husband is having an affair or is so consumed by his career, he ends up neglecting his wife. Or the wife is just bored. And they all took to drinking and became addicted.”
She tells the case of three high-society women, whom she tried in vain to bring to the AA meetings. “There was a lot of denial about the alcoholism,” she says. “The families did not want the women to come for the meetings because of social fear. Instead, they wanted us to go to their houses to talk.” In the end, all three died of alcoholism.
Lynette also spoke of the widespread alcoholism among actresses in Bollywood; they are unable to seek treatment for the fear of a scandal. “In fact, one actress committed suicide, while she was drunk,” she says.
One evening, I go across to meet Vivek, a long-time member of AA, at his office in Dalal Street. (Incidentally, the AA in Mumbai has just entered its 50th year of service in the city). “Women alcoholics come from all sorts of backgrounds: from the very rich to the poor,” he says. “Most of the time, they do their drinking indoors.”
Agrees Dr Shilpa Adarkar, of the De-addiction Centre at KEM hospital. “Mostly, they are introduced to drinking at home by their husbands,” she says. “Sometimes, they drink indoors with a female companion. The problem is that a woman’s constitution is such they develop a dependency faster than men.” (see box)
The treatment at the centre includes a detoxification process that lasts between seven to ten days. After that, there is group therapy and patients are encouraged to go for weekly meetings, where they are taught coping strategy and how to handle inter-personal relationships.
“Alcoholism, like tobacco, is a gateway drug,” she says. “When you imbibe them, it ensures your entry into the world of drugs. Modernisation, and an increasingly hectic social life, has led to a rise in drinking, especially among young women.”
Asked what advice she would give young women, she says, “I would tell them drink is not a necessity, like water, air and food. When you take your first drink, just remember that. Nobody can predict who will end up as an alcoholic. So, the best way is to say no to the first drink.” (Some names have been changed)
Social stigma prevents women alcoholics from seeking help
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
Terry Lewis is 74 years old but her face is unlined, and she looks years younger. It is difficult to believe that she has been an alcoholic for nearly 40 years. We are sitting in her spacious drawing room in Bandra, dominated by a wooden bookcase placed against one wall, with the obligatory TV set on one shelf. There is a sit-out, from where you can see a lawn and a couple of coconut trees.
Here is her story: Terry married an Englishman, when she was 20. “Michael was a regular drinker,” she says. “But I did not like the idea of drinking. But, as the saying goes, when you can’t beat them, you join them.”
Her late husband, who was 23 years older to her, was a senior manager in a multinational firm and moved in a social circle where everybody was drinking. “So I started to drink regularly,” she says. The childless couple lived in various parts of India and over several years Terry’s drinking deepened and she slipped into alcoholism. When they finally settled down in Bandra, Terry had got into the habit of imbibing from the morning.
“When Michael was in the kitchen, I would go around the corner to the cupboard where the booze was kept and have a swig,” she says. “Most of the time, it was straight from the bottle.”
Michael would plead with her to stop but to no avail. It was a friend who persuaded her to go to an Alcoholics Anonymous (AA) meeting and it was there she met Lynette, who was 30 years younger, and a recovering alcoholic. “She was like a fairy godmother to me,” says Terry. “She would phone me in the mornings, afternoons and evenings, enquiring about me. She would take me for the meetings. You get the strength from the meetings and you come back and you don’t drink. But it was Lynette who gave me the courage to finally beat the addiction.”
It has been fourteen years since she has stopped “but it is still one day a time. I don’t think an alcoholic is ever sure. Because alcohol is ‘cunning, powerful and baffling.’ The fear of slipping is always there.”
Terry’s is a rare story, which had a happy ending. In Mumbai, there are hundreds of cases of women alcoholics, but nobody knows about them because to be labelled as an alcoholic is such a taboo in Indian society. As Terry says, “If you say a woman is a heavy drinker, it is accepted. If you say she is a boozer, it is accepted. But the moment you say, she is an alcoholic, there is a stigma attached to her.”
Lynette knows a lot about the stigma. “In my work with AA, I came to know of so many upper middle class women who are alcoholics,” she says. “The reasons are simple: either the husband is having an affair or is so consumed by his career, he ends up neglecting his wife. Or the wife is just bored. And they all took to drinking and became addicted.”
She tells the case of three high-society women, whom she tried in vain to bring to the AA meetings. “There was a lot of denial about the alcoholism,” she says. “The families did not want the women to come for the meetings because of social fear. Instead, they wanted us to go to their houses to talk.” In the end, all three died of alcoholism.
Lynette also spoke of the widespread alcoholism among actresses in Bollywood; they are unable to seek treatment for the fear of a scandal. “In fact, one actress committed suicide, while she was drunk,” she says.
One evening, I go across to meet Vivek, a long-time member of AA, at his office in Dalal Street. (Incidentally, the AA in Mumbai has just entered its 50th year of service in the city). “Women alcoholics come from all sorts of backgrounds: from the very rich to the poor,” he says. “Most of the time, they do their drinking indoors.”
Agrees Dr Shilpa Adarkar, of the De-addiction Centre at KEM hospital. “Mostly, they are introduced to drinking at home by their husbands,” she says. “Sometimes, they drink indoors with a female companion. The problem is that a woman’s constitution is such they develop a dependency faster than men.” (see box)
The treatment at the centre includes a detoxification process that lasts between seven to ten days. After that, there is group therapy and patients are encouraged to go for weekly meetings, where they are taught coping strategy and how to handle inter-personal relationships.
“Alcoholism, like tobacco, is a gateway drug,” she says. “When you imbibe them, it ensures your entry into the world of drugs. Modernisation, and an increasingly hectic social life, has led to a rise in drinking, especially among young women.”
Asked what advice she would give young women, she says, “I would tell them drink is not a necessity, like water, air and food. When you take your first drink, just remember that. Nobody can predict who will end up as an alcoholic. So, the best way is to say no to the first drink.” (Some names have been changed)
The roller coaster that is Mumbai
Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained from The Hindustan Times
Americans who live in the city go through a gamut of emotions
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
I meet Nina Woodard at the lobby of The Hilton and, straightaway, I can see that Mumbai, and India, has seduced her. She is wearing a pink salwaar kameez, with a bindi at the centre of her forehead. With her fluffy red hair, she could easily pass off as an Indian, since hair colouring has become a rage these days.
However, Mumbai took a while to grow on her. “Everything was so overwhelming. Too much sight, too much sound, too many people, too much colour, too much everything,” she says. “When I later read Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts, his description of the first impressions of the city was exactly what I felt. But when you step back and look at everything on an individual basis, that is when you begin to enjoy the place.”
The Californian Woodard, who works in the Indian branch of a US based firm, moved to Mumbai five years ago and plans to stay on. For her, the most attractive feature of the city is the people. “The smiles, the relationships, the kindness, the big hearts,” she says. “People will go out of the way to ensure that you have a pleasant experience.”
Variety is the spice
On a Wednesday, I go to the private residence of the US Consul General, Michael Owen, on Bhulabhai Desai Road. The sun-soaked rooms are spacious, with wooden furniture and large glass-paned windows with a panoramic view of the sea. On a low glass-topped table there is a coffee table book: Stephen Ambrose’s The Mississippi and the Making of a Nation. At the stroke of 3 p.m., in walks Owen, soft-spoken, impeccably dressed and gracious.
“Mumbai is a big and vibrant city,” says Owen, who has been in the city for all of six months. “The number of people I see every day is amazing. I am used to serving in national capitals where you meet a lot of people in government. But here, you meet people in finance, business, investment banking, entertainment and the arts. The variety is amazing.” (See interview below).
Few Americans can help but compare the metropolis to New York. Says writer Janet Fine, who has lived in Mumbai for more than twenty years: "Both cities have the same non-stop attitude. In one day, you can do ten different things that have nothing to do with each other. For example, you can go to a press conference and get hugged by Hollywood star Will Smith, visit the girls at the WECAN orphanage in Mahim, and later, party all night at a rocking art gallery opening and surburban restaurant celebration, without ever losing the Mumbai rhythm."
Agrees Jim Cunningham, the commercial consul at the US consulate: “There is always something happening in Mumbai. Indians are so hospitable, they don’t allow you any time to feel homesick.”
One group, who are far from being homesick, is the 23-year-old trio of Charles Greene, Sukhesh Miryala and David Aranow. They are working as executives, on a two-year stint, in the Mahindra Group. They look smart and upbeat in their tucked-in shirts and ties, sitting around a conference table on the fifth floor at Mahindra Towers at Worli.
Asked about the working environment in Mumbai, Harvard-educated Aranow says, “As undergraduates, I don’t think we would have got the same level of responsibility in an American firm. The office environment is much more friendlier than in New York.”
For these youngsters, the city has been a sort of a cultural shock, especially the social disparities. However, Greene says, he found the people are, for the most part, happy, “even though so many of them are living in poverty. They are friendly and go out of their way to help me. That was one of the first things that struck me. To see the cows on the street was also…different.”
His colleague, Miryala, of Indian origin, takes a deep breath and then waxes eloquent: “The great thing about Mumbai is the juxtaposition of traditional Indian culture along with a cosmopolitan and international feel. There is so much of arts and culture happening here. Rudy Guiliani and Anoushka Shankar have come visiting, as well as the Viennese orchestra. Mumbai is a global city.”
Not all roses
Of course, Mumbai’s flaws have not escaped their eyes. Says Nina Woodard, her clear brown eyes clouding up for the first time in the conversation: “The amount of poverty that one sees in the city is very disturbing. Now that I have been here for a while, I have realised it is disturbing for everyone.”
Across town, in east Andheri, I go and meet Louise Williams, (64). She is the founder and managing trustee of Love Humanity International, an NGO to empower children. In her house-cum-office, apart from paintings on the walls and potted plants on the window sill, there is an unusual feature: in a small alcove, lit by a lamp, there are pictures of Ganesh and Shirdi Sai Baba.
“The disadvantages of the city are the infrastructure, poor sidewalks, pollution and trash everywhere,” she says. “So many children are living in the streets. That is why I am here. I want to help and empower them.”
Williams also finds the suburban train travel stressful. “I almost broke my toe when somebody stepped on it when I was on a train,” she says. She narrates the story of her friend, Gail Presbey, an associate professor from the US who came to Mumbai on a Fulbright scholarship. “She was pushed out of the train at Andheri,” she says. “Thankfully, she suffered only a few bruises.”
Mishaps and adventures
Like all foreigners who live for a while in a tumultuous city like Mumbai, they have interesting experiences to relate. In her second week in the city, a friend of Woodard took her out to dinner. And because he knew she was fascinated with everything Indian, he asked her whether she wanted to try a betel. “Being new and not understanding it meant paan, I declined,” she says, with a smile. “And I watched him enjoy it. Then I asked to see how it was made and after I looked in, I asked, ‘Well, where is the beetle?’ Everybody laughed out loud!”
Miryala, who, amazingly, joined Mahindras on the ill-fated July 26 last year, was amazed at the ferocity of the rain. “I saw people wading in the water and I was shocked,” he says. “So I asked, ‘Does this happen every time it rains?’ But somebody replied, ‘I don’t think we have seen such a rain in a very long time.’ And I was thinking, ‘Oh my God, I forgot to bring my swimming shorts.’ I thought I was going to have to swim home.” Which thankfully, he did not have to do, since he was staying at Tardeo.
Janet Fine also has an interesting story to tell: “When I first met my Indian dance guru, Kalyan Sundaram, my fellow dancers asked me to kiss his feet. And I literally went down to kiss his feet with my lips, when the others hurriedly pulled me up. I did not know I was just supposed to touch his feet.”
Interview/Michael Owen, US Consel General:
‘There is so much happening here’
What are Mumbai’s attractions?
There are so many different things you can do. I get invitations for dinners, receptions, art openings, screenings of films, seeing films being filmed, there is so much entertainment at the National Centre for the Performing Arts, plays and lectures.
Any negative impressions?
Like any large city, traffic is a problem. I had to go once all the way to Powai and I was able to read all the day's papers in the car. The air pollution is another problem. I’ve noticed that people at the consulate sometime have colds and sore throats because of it. It affects everybody, including long-term residents.
Your most interesting experience?
At the Ganesh immersion at Chowpatty, diplomats were supposed to stay in the viewing area. I told the police I would like to be there on the beach among the crowd but the police were not very happy. But I finally convinced them. So I went down with my wife and daughter. We were just standing there nonchalantly when all of a sudden I turned around and there was this huge group of people, with a big Ganesh idol, running directly at us. And we needed to move back in a hurry. Then the police said, "Now, it is time to go back" and so we had to go back to our viewing stand. But, it was a great experience.
Your views on the Indo-US relationship?
The relations between India and the US is very positive now and that is very gratifying to see. The number of Indians who want to go to the US for business or study is increasing. Also, the number of Americans who are coming here is also increasing. The level of interchange is excellent.
What benefits will accrue from President George Bush's trip to India?There will be blanket press coverage of the visit back in the US and it will raise the profile of India for the average American enormously. George Bush is coming with a number of private American citizens, many of them of Indian origin. I expect a lot of follow-up from this visit. It symbolises the way the relationship has grown and improved over the years.
Americans who live in the city go through a gamut of emotions
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
I meet Nina Woodard at the lobby of The Hilton and, straightaway, I can see that Mumbai, and India, has seduced her. She is wearing a pink salwaar kameez, with a bindi at the centre of her forehead. With her fluffy red hair, she could easily pass off as an Indian, since hair colouring has become a rage these days.
However, Mumbai took a while to grow on her. “Everything was so overwhelming. Too much sight, too much sound, too many people, too much colour, too much everything,” she says. “When I later read Shantaram by Gregory David Roberts, his description of the first impressions of the city was exactly what I felt. But when you step back and look at everything on an individual basis, that is when you begin to enjoy the place.”
The Californian Woodard, who works in the Indian branch of a US based firm, moved to Mumbai five years ago and plans to stay on. For her, the most attractive feature of the city is the people. “The smiles, the relationships, the kindness, the big hearts,” she says. “People will go out of the way to ensure that you have a pleasant experience.”
Variety is the spice
On a Wednesday, I go to the private residence of the US Consul General, Michael Owen, on Bhulabhai Desai Road. The sun-soaked rooms are spacious, with wooden furniture and large glass-paned windows with a panoramic view of the sea. On a low glass-topped table there is a coffee table book: Stephen Ambrose’s The Mississippi and the Making of a Nation. At the stroke of 3 p.m., in walks Owen, soft-spoken, impeccably dressed and gracious.
“Mumbai is a big and vibrant city,” says Owen, who has been in the city for all of six months. “The number of people I see every day is amazing. I am used to serving in national capitals where you meet a lot of people in government. But here, you meet people in finance, business, investment banking, entertainment and the arts. The variety is amazing.” (See interview below).
Few Americans can help but compare the metropolis to New York. Says writer Janet Fine, who has lived in Mumbai for more than twenty years: "Both cities have the same non-stop attitude. In one day, you can do ten different things that have nothing to do with each other. For example, you can go to a press conference and get hugged by Hollywood star Will Smith, visit the girls at the WECAN orphanage in Mahim, and later, party all night at a rocking art gallery opening and surburban restaurant celebration, without ever losing the Mumbai rhythm."
Agrees Jim Cunningham, the commercial consul at the US consulate: “There is always something happening in Mumbai. Indians are so hospitable, they don’t allow you any time to feel homesick.”
One group, who are far from being homesick, is the 23-year-old trio of Charles Greene, Sukhesh Miryala and David Aranow. They are working as executives, on a two-year stint, in the Mahindra Group. They look smart and upbeat in their tucked-in shirts and ties, sitting around a conference table on the fifth floor at Mahindra Towers at Worli.
Asked about the working environment in Mumbai, Harvard-educated Aranow says, “As undergraduates, I don’t think we would have got the same level of responsibility in an American firm. The office environment is much more friendlier than in New York.”
For these youngsters, the city has been a sort of a cultural shock, especially the social disparities. However, Greene says, he found the people are, for the most part, happy, “even though so many of them are living in poverty. They are friendly and go out of their way to help me. That was one of the first things that struck me. To see the cows on the street was also…different.”
His colleague, Miryala, of Indian origin, takes a deep breath and then waxes eloquent: “The great thing about Mumbai is the juxtaposition of traditional Indian culture along with a cosmopolitan and international feel. There is so much of arts and culture happening here. Rudy Guiliani and Anoushka Shankar have come visiting, as well as the Viennese orchestra. Mumbai is a global city.”
Not all roses
Of course, Mumbai’s flaws have not escaped their eyes. Says Nina Woodard, her clear brown eyes clouding up for the first time in the conversation: “The amount of poverty that one sees in the city is very disturbing. Now that I have been here for a while, I have realised it is disturbing for everyone.”
Across town, in east Andheri, I go and meet Louise Williams, (64). She is the founder and managing trustee of Love Humanity International, an NGO to empower children. In her house-cum-office, apart from paintings on the walls and potted plants on the window sill, there is an unusual feature: in a small alcove, lit by a lamp, there are pictures of Ganesh and Shirdi Sai Baba.
“The disadvantages of the city are the infrastructure, poor sidewalks, pollution and trash everywhere,” she says. “So many children are living in the streets. That is why I am here. I want to help and empower them.”
Williams also finds the suburban train travel stressful. “I almost broke my toe when somebody stepped on it when I was on a train,” she says. She narrates the story of her friend, Gail Presbey, an associate professor from the US who came to Mumbai on a Fulbright scholarship. “She was pushed out of the train at Andheri,” she says. “Thankfully, she suffered only a few bruises.”
Mishaps and adventures
Like all foreigners who live for a while in a tumultuous city like Mumbai, they have interesting experiences to relate. In her second week in the city, a friend of Woodard took her out to dinner. And because he knew she was fascinated with everything Indian, he asked her whether she wanted to try a betel. “Being new and not understanding it meant paan, I declined,” she says, with a smile. “And I watched him enjoy it. Then I asked to see how it was made and after I looked in, I asked, ‘Well, where is the beetle?’ Everybody laughed out loud!”
Miryala, who, amazingly, joined Mahindras on the ill-fated July 26 last year, was amazed at the ferocity of the rain. “I saw people wading in the water and I was shocked,” he says. “So I asked, ‘Does this happen every time it rains?’ But somebody replied, ‘I don’t think we have seen such a rain in a very long time.’ And I was thinking, ‘Oh my God, I forgot to bring my swimming shorts.’ I thought I was going to have to swim home.” Which thankfully, he did not have to do, since he was staying at Tardeo.
Janet Fine also has an interesting story to tell: “When I first met my Indian dance guru, Kalyan Sundaram, my fellow dancers asked me to kiss his feet. And I literally went down to kiss his feet with my lips, when the others hurriedly pulled me up. I did not know I was just supposed to touch his feet.”
Interview/Michael Owen, US Consel General:
‘There is so much happening here’
What are Mumbai’s attractions?
There are so many different things you can do. I get invitations for dinners, receptions, art openings, screenings of films, seeing films being filmed, there is so much entertainment at the National Centre for the Performing Arts, plays and lectures.
Any negative impressions?
Like any large city, traffic is a problem. I had to go once all the way to Powai and I was able to read all the day's papers in the car. The air pollution is another problem. I’ve noticed that people at the consulate sometime have colds and sore throats because of it. It affects everybody, including long-term residents.
Your most interesting experience?
At the Ganesh immersion at Chowpatty, diplomats were supposed to stay in the viewing area. I told the police I would like to be there on the beach among the crowd but the police were not very happy. But I finally convinced them. So I went down with my wife and daughter. We were just standing there nonchalantly when all of a sudden I turned around and there was this huge group of people, with a big Ganesh idol, running directly at us. And we needed to move back in a hurry. Then the police said, "Now, it is time to go back" and so we had to go back to our viewing stand. But, it was a great experience.
Your views on the Indo-US relationship?
The relations between India and the US is very positive now and that is very gratifying to see. The number of Indians who want to go to the US for business or study is increasing. Also, the number of Americans who are coming here is also increasing. The level of interchange is excellent.
What benefits will accrue from President George Bush's trip to India?There will be blanket press coverage of the visit back in the US and it will raise the profile of India for the average American enormously. George Bush is coming with a number of private American citizens, many of them of Indian origin. I expect a lot of follow-up from this visit. It symbolises the way the relationship has grown and improved over the years.
Friday, April 21, 2006
‘The writer is the first star of the film’
Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained from The Hindustan Times
Interview/Kamlesh Pandey, writer/Rang De Basanti
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
Rang de Basanti has taken the country by storm. And, as is always the case, the media spotlight has fallen on the stars, the director, the lyricist and the music composer and almost none on the writer of the story: Kamlesh Pandey.
Pandey is a veteran screenplay writer, having penned such hits as Tezaab, Dil, Saudagar, Khalnayak and Jalwa. At his tastefully furnished flat at Andheri, the silver-haired writer seemed resigned to the low status of writers in Bollywood. But he did not mince words about the situation.
Excerpts from the interview:
Are you surprised at the stupendous response to Rang De Basanti?
I am surprised because it has gone beyond all our expectations. When I narrated the story to director Rakeysh Mehra in 2001, he said the script was brilliant and original but you have seen what kind of films are succeeding at the box office: the designer films and the candyfloss films shot in Switzerland by big production houses. Who is going to watch Rang De Basanti? So I said, ‘Rakeysh, if and when this film sees the light of day and if just one boy or girl comes up and shakes my hand, our efforts will be worthwhile.’
Did that happen?
Yes. I was invited to a convocation a few days ago, at National College in Bandra. I am not a celebrity, I am just a poor writer and I did not expect to be recognised. But this student volunteer, who was at the gate, shook my hand and said, “Sir, thank you for giving us Rang De Basanti”. That, for me, was the ultimate reward.
Can you analyse why it has made such an impact?
I am a citizen of this country, and the concerns of common people are also my concerns. I have the same issues regarding politicians and bureaucrats and the powers-that-be. I am concerned about my country. The idea was simple: if Bhagat Singh had been alive today, what would he have done? I was trying to bring Bhagat Singh into our period to wake up the young generation.
Are they sleeping?
See, everything is fine. They are enjoying their lives: MMS, SMS, anti-dandruff shampoos, girlfriends, cell phones and international brands. I am not against all that. But, please open your eyes. Thirty per cent of the MLAs and MPs are history-sheeters. Tomorrow, they will be fifty per cent. They are making the laws of our land, my dear friend, which you and I will be obliged to follow. What will happen then? Are you blind? The government, the politicians, the bureaucrats and the businessmen, they all want to keep the status quo, so that they can exploit us as much as they can.
What else?
Let me give you one more insight: The youth in India were never allowed to be young. That is why there was this system of child marriages. Before a boy could become a young man, he was married, he was the father of two kids, so how can he be a rebel? All ancient cultures become very cunning and it was a clever device to maintain the status quo, so that exploiters can have a free hand. Conformity went into our DNA. The Indian youth surrendered itself to the monolith of the family, the corporation and the society. They were never allowed to have a free mind or ask uncomfortable questions. It was only during the freedom struggle, that, somehow, the spirit surfaced through Bhagat Singh and his friends.
Would you agree that, without a good story, a film is nothing. The story is the bedrock.
The writer is the first star of a film. And it is not me who is saying this. Steven Spielberg said this. If writers don’t write, Hollywood will not have a job. Alfred Hitchcock said, ‘I need only three things to make a good film: Script, script and script’. In Bollywood, they don’t understand this. Producers would rather wait outside a star’s bungalow, begging like a dog, to get a commitment. They will not come to me and say, “Kamleshji, do you have a great script?” That is how the system works. And that is why 95 per cent of the films flop in Bollywood. We claim to be the largest filmmaking country in the world and we make crap. This happens because you do not give the writer what he deserves.
Any new writers coming up? Somebody whose talent you are excited about?
No. In the entire industry, there are not more than six genuine writers, who know their job. And I am being optimistic here. We do not have a single institute or a workshop or any place where you can learn scriptwriting. I learned on the job. I learned by my mistakes and from my seniors. In America, every university has a film course. Every city has hundreds of screenplay workshops. Every year, America produces around 10,000 fresh writers to feed the industry. How many do we produce? Nothing. Zero. Most people, who come to Bollywood to become actors or directors and could not get a job, they become writers. Because, in our industry, they believe anybody can be a writer.
Which way is Bollywood going?
However, despite what I have said, the future is incredibly great. An American organisation has found out that, by 2025, Bollywood movies will have the biggest audience in the world. India has never invaded any country, but now we are starting an invasion through music and dance and the stories we have to tell. The world is waiting for us.
Interview/Kamlesh Pandey, writer/Rang De Basanti
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
Rang de Basanti has taken the country by storm. And, as is always the case, the media spotlight has fallen on the stars, the director, the lyricist and the music composer and almost none on the writer of the story: Kamlesh Pandey.
Pandey is a veteran screenplay writer, having penned such hits as Tezaab, Dil, Saudagar, Khalnayak and Jalwa. At his tastefully furnished flat at Andheri, the silver-haired writer seemed resigned to the low status of writers in Bollywood. But he did not mince words about the situation.
Excerpts from the interview:
Are you surprised at the stupendous response to Rang De Basanti?
I am surprised because it has gone beyond all our expectations. When I narrated the story to director Rakeysh Mehra in 2001, he said the script was brilliant and original but you have seen what kind of films are succeeding at the box office: the designer films and the candyfloss films shot in Switzerland by big production houses. Who is going to watch Rang De Basanti? So I said, ‘Rakeysh, if and when this film sees the light of day and if just one boy or girl comes up and shakes my hand, our efforts will be worthwhile.’
Did that happen?
Yes. I was invited to a convocation a few days ago, at National College in Bandra. I am not a celebrity, I am just a poor writer and I did not expect to be recognised. But this student volunteer, who was at the gate, shook my hand and said, “Sir, thank you for giving us Rang De Basanti”. That, for me, was the ultimate reward.
Can you analyse why it has made such an impact?
I am a citizen of this country, and the concerns of common people are also my concerns. I have the same issues regarding politicians and bureaucrats and the powers-that-be. I am concerned about my country. The idea was simple: if Bhagat Singh had been alive today, what would he have done? I was trying to bring Bhagat Singh into our period to wake up the young generation.
Are they sleeping?
See, everything is fine. They are enjoying their lives: MMS, SMS, anti-dandruff shampoos, girlfriends, cell phones and international brands. I am not against all that. But, please open your eyes. Thirty per cent of the MLAs and MPs are history-sheeters. Tomorrow, they will be fifty per cent. They are making the laws of our land, my dear friend, which you and I will be obliged to follow. What will happen then? Are you blind? The government, the politicians, the bureaucrats and the businessmen, they all want to keep the status quo, so that they can exploit us as much as they can.
What else?
Let me give you one more insight: The youth in India were never allowed to be young. That is why there was this system of child marriages. Before a boy could become a young man, he was married, he was the father of two kids, so how can he be a rebel? All ancient cultures become very cunning and it was a clever device to maintain the status quo, so that exploiters can have a free hand. Conformity went into our DNA. The Indian youth surrendered itself to the monolith of the family, the corporation and the society. They were never allowed to have a free mind or ask uncomfortable questions. It was only during the freedom struggle, that, somehow, the spirit surfaced through Bhagat Singh and his friends.
Would you agree that, without a good story, a film is nothing. The story is the bedrock.
The writer is the first star of a film. And it is not me who is saying this. Steven Spielberg said this. If writers don’t write, Hollywood will not have a job. Alfred Hitchcock said, ‘I need only three things to make a good film: Script, script and script’. In Bollywood, they don’t understand this. Producers would rather wait outside a star’s bungalow, begging like a dog, to get a commitment. They will not come to me and say, “Kamleshji, do you have a great script?” That is how the system works. And that is why 95 per cent of the films flop in Bollywood. We claim to be the largest filmmaking country in the world and we make crap. This happens because you do not give the writer what he deserves.
Any new writers coming up? Somebody whose talent you are excited about?
No. In the entire industry, there are not more than six genuine writers, who know their job. And I am being optimistic here. We do not have a single institute or a workshop or any place where you can learn scriptwriting. I learned on the job. I learned by my mistakes and from my seniors. In America, every university has a film course. Every city has hundreds of screenplay workshops. Every year, America produces around 10,000 fresh writers to feed the industry. How many do we produce? Nothing. Zero. Most people, who come to Bollywood to become actors or directors and could not get a job, they become writers. Because, in our industry, they believe anybody can be a writer.
Which way is Bollywood going?
However, despite what I have said, the future is incredibly great. An American organisation has found out that, by 2025, Bollywood movies will have the biggest audience in the world. India has never invaded any country, but now we are starting an invasion through music and dance and the stories we have to tell. The world is waiting for us.
Hoard now, get a windfall later
Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained from Hindustan Times
By storing paintings, a trust wants artists to get a better price for their early work
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
Here’s a chance for artists to have an experience like Rip Van Winkle. Put a painting away every year for several years and forget about it. Then wake up decades later and find that you have become a multi-millionaire. Sounds crazy? Well, that’s what the Artist Pension Trust (APT) wants to do: makes artists rich people and also get rich in the bargain.
A tall, lean man, with clear eyes, David A Ross, a former director of the Whitney Museum of American Art, is in town to establish the Indian branch of the APT. This is how the trust works: Over a five-year period, with the help of a selection committee (gallery owners Sharan Apparao and Shireen Gandhy, collector Czaee Shah, dealer Peter Nagy and Jai Danani, director, APT, Mumbai), 250 artistes will be selected. In the first year, however, only 50 will be selected. Every year, the artists will supply one work to the trust and this will be done over 20 years. The paintings will not be put into the market immediately. Instead, the trust will wait for the artist’s value to appreciate, which usually happens over a period of time and then the painting will be sold.
Once a sale is made, the artist gets 40 per cent and another 40 per cent is distributed pro rata among the other 249 artists. The remaining 20 per cent will be distributed as management fees to Mutual Art, the holding company. “The idea is to provide artists with a stable, long-term economic future,” says Ross, the APT president.
What usually happens is that when artists are at the beginning of their careers, in order to survive, they sell works very cheaply. However, a decade later, when the prices appreciate remarkably, they cannot partake of the windfall, because the concept of resale royalty is not practised anywhere in the world. So, the collector and the gallery owner laugh all the way to the bank while the artist gets nothing. “For example, if a Tyeb Mehta was selling for $500 in 1962, imagine the financial windfall for Mehta today if he had 20 unsold works,” says Ross.
So far, trusts have been set up in New York, Los Angeles, Berlin and London; trusts are also being set up in Mumbai, Mexico City, Sao Paulo, Beijing, Bangkok and Istanbul. All the paintings will be housed in museum-like conditions; it will be sent to exhibitions for display and publicity will be generated online and through the print media.
It seems like an idea whose time has come. One who is enthusiastic is Sharan Apparao, the owner of Apparao Galleries. “This is a fantastic concept and a great financial product,” she says. “I liked the idea of supporting artists and that is why I have joined the trust.”
In Mumbai, there is a long list of 100 artists and the short-list will be announced in June.
Each member of the selection committee nominates an artist. “We discuss the work, and give our reasons as to why we think the artist is heading in the right direction,” says Jai Danani. “Maybe, they are ambitious or are doing interesting work, or have superior talent or technique, to not only compete here but on the international level.”
However, not everybody is excited. Painter Sameer Mondal says, “Art should be unconditional and therefore this concept is not suitable for me.” But painter Shimeen Oshidar says: “It will be nice to have a windfall in later years. Since we always try to set aside a couple of works for the future, this is something which we are doing anyway.”
By storing paintings, a trust wants artists to get a better price for their early work
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
Here’s a chance for artists to have an experience like Rip Van Winkle. Put a painting away every year for several years and forget about it. Then wake up decades later and find that you have become a multi-millionaire. Sounds crazy? Well, that’s what the Artist Pension Trust (APT) wants to do: makes artists rich people and also get rich in the bargain.
A tall, lean man, with clear eyes, David A Ross, a former director of the Whitney Museum of American Art, is in town to establish the Indian branch of the APT. This is how the trust works: Over a five-year period, with the help of a selection committee (gallery owners Sharan Apparao and Shireen Gandhy, collector Czaee Shah, dealer Peter Nagy and Jai Danani, director, APT, Mumbai), 250 artistes will be selected. In the first year, however, only 50 will be selected. Every year, the artists will supply one work to the trust and this will be done over 20 years. The paintings will not be put into the market immediately. Instead, the trust will wait for the artist’s value to appreciate, which usually happens over a period of time and then the painting will be sold.
Once a sale is made, the artist gets 40 per cent and another 40 per cent is distributed pro rata among the other 249 artists. The remaining 20 per cent will be distributed as management fees to Mutual Art, the holding company. “The idea is to provide artists with a stable, long-term economic future,” says Ross, the APT president.
What usually happens is that when artists are at the beginning of their careers, in order to survive, they sell works very cheaply. However, a decade later, when the prices appreciate remarkably, they cannot partake of the windfall, because the concept of resale royalty is not practised anywhere in the world. So, the collector and the gallery owner laugh all the way to the bank while the artist gets nothing. “For example, if a Tyeb Mehta was selling for $500 in 1962, imagine the financial windfall for Mehta today if he had 20 unsold works,” says Ross.
So far, trusts have been set up in New York, Los Angeles, Berlin and London; trusts are also being set up in Mumbai, Mexico City, Sao Paulo, Beijing, Bangkok and Istanbul. All the paintings will be housed in museum-like conditions; it will be sent to exhibitions for display and publicity will be generated online and through the print media.
It seems like an idea whose time has come. One who is enthusiastic is Sharan Apparao, the owner of Apparao Galleries. “This is a fantastic concept and a great financial product,” she says. “I liked the idea of supporting artists and that is why I have joined the trust.”
In Mumbai, there is a long list of 100 artists and the short-list will be announced in June.
Each member of the selection committee nominates an artist. “We discuss the work, and give our reasons as to why we think the artist is heading in the right direction,” says Jai Danani. “Maybe, they are ambitious or are doing interesting work, or have superior talent or technique, to not only compete here but on the international level.”
However, not everybody is excited. Painter Sameer Mondal says, “Art should be unconditional and therefore this concept is not suitable for me.” But painter Shimeen Oshidar says: “It will be nice to have a windfall in later years. Since we always try to set aside a couple of works for the future, this is something which we are doing anyway.”
Becoming street smart
Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained from Hindustan Times
Street furniture is making its presence slowly but surely in Mumbai
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
On a Monday evening, the Dadabhai Naoroji Road is chock-full with cars, buses and taxis. The pavements are clogged with people hurrying past, heads down, all heading towards Churchgate station. So, it become a little difficult to note the unusual street furniture: the black iron railings, Victorian style dust bins and a red glass-paned telephone booth, which seems to have been imported straight from London. But thankfully, there is an Indian touch: a white piece of paper which is stuck on one of the panes has this hand-written legend: ‘Phone out of order’.
“D.N. Road is one of the busiest thoroughfares in the city,” says architect Abha Narain Lambah. “So, you need something of a particular scale. Historically, and architecturally, the scale is more Victorian and Edwardian. The aesthetics has to conform to the cast iron. Otherwise, there will be a disconnect between the street and the furniture.”
The idea to have street furniture that conforms to the historic sensibility of an area was first mooted by Lambah, in 1998, to the Mumbai Metropolitan Region Development Authority (MMRDA), which had set up a heritage conservation society. “We felt the beauty of the heritage should be maintained in the existing fashion,” says G. S. Pantbalekundri, who was secretary of the heritage conservation society and has since retired. Adds Lambah: “Till then, the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation had a standard system all over the city. So, if they were putting penguin litter bins or concrete benches, they would do it all over the city.”
Using the catalogue of the Westminister City Council in England, as a reference point, Lambah prepared a pilot project of 100m of D.N. Road. “She made a presentation and the MMRDA produced a beautiful brochure and we were convinced about the project,” says R.H. Mendonsa, the managing director of Lawrence & Mayo, which has their headquarters on D.N. Road. Following that, The Citizen’s Association of D.N. Road took it upon themselves to make it a stakeholder-driven project; the shopkeepers contributed for every stretch of railing or litterbin along their stretch. “There are about 20 banks on this road, and they were all keen in the beautification,” says Mendonsa. So far, for 500m of renovation, it has cost Rs 30 lakh. To complete the western side of D.N. Road, the MMRDA has promised to defray 25 per cent of the expenses while the rest will again come from local fund-raising.
However, when you look at the railings and the dustbins on D.N. Road, it is clearly fading and losing its attractiveness. “In five years, it has not been painted once,” says Lambah. “The BMC should take up some responsibility. In other parts of the world, the municipal corporation gives a coat of epoxy paint on street furniture every six months. How long will the citizens keep pitching in?” Interestingly, the street furniture has won the UNESCO Asia Pacific Award of Merit for 2004 because it was one of the earliest street furniture done by a private agency in Asia.
Further away, in Walkeshwar, on the stretch from Chowpathy to Raj Bhavan on Marine Drive, steel benches, some with a back-rest, some without, have been set up. On the evening of Republic Day, there are plenty of people who are sauntering about on the promenade, their spirits high because of the mid-week holiday, and quite a few who are sitting on the steel benches. The steel gleamed in the evening sun and the words Jindal Foundation could be seen on one side. “Earlier, there used to be concrete benches and it had completely rusted. The seats were all broken and damaged,” says Lambah. “Every time, the government would install something, they would use low-quality material and it would corrode within six months because of the high salt content.”
Lambah received support from Sangita Jindal of the Jindal Foundation. “I wanted to set an example to the government that street furniture should not always be of a low quality,” says Sangita. So Lambah was encouraged to go in for high quality stainless steel in combination with slame-finished granite. “We wanted to put up something which would last,” says Lambah. Three years have gone past and the benches still look as good as new.
Bespectacled Vipul Rane, 27, an IT engineer, is sitting on one of the benches. “The design looks good,” he says. “It is comfortable and durable. When people see concrete benches, they always try to chip off part of the cement.” Rane suggests that these benches should be replicated all over the city. “However, the BMC should keep an eye,” he says, “as drug addicts will try and steal them.”
A little ahead of Rane sit two young PR professionals, Arushi Agarwal and Poonam Nikam, both 24, leaning back and placing their legs on the parapet. They are, however, not too excited by the design. “The concrete benches were better because they had a different feel,” says Arushi.
Agrees Poonam: “These steel benches give a very upmarket look but this is actually just a place to chill out. I guess, we have been so used to the other type of benches, it is going to take time to get used to the new ones.”
What is street furniture?
Street furniture is a collective term for objects and pieces of equipment installed on streets and roads for various purposes, includingbenches, post boxes, phone boxes, streetlamps, street lighting, traffic lights,bus stops, taxi stands, fountains and waste receptacles. An important consideration in the design of street furniture is how it affects road safety.
Street furniture itself has become as much a part of many nations' identities as dialects and national events, so much so that one can usually recognise the location by their design; famous examples include:
The red telephone boxes of Britain
The residential post boxes of the US
The street lamps and metro entrances in ParisSource: Wikipedia
Street furniture is making its presence slowly but surely in Mumbai
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
On a Monday evening, the Dadabhai Naoroji Road is chock-full with cars, buses and taxis. The pavements are clogged with people hurrying past, heads down, all heading towards Churchgate station. So, it become a little difficult to note the unusual street furniture: the black iron railings, Victorian style dust bins and a red glass-paned telephone booth, which seems to have been imported straight from London. But thankfully, there is an Indian touch: a white piece of paper which is stuck on one of the panes has this hand-written legend: ‘Phone out of order’.
“D.N. Road is one of the busiest thoroughfares in the city,” says architect Abha Narain Lambah. “So, you need something of a particular scale. Historically, and architecturally, the scale is more Victorian and Edwardian. The aesthetics has to conform to the cast iron. Otherwise, there will be a disconnect between the street and the furniture.”
The idea to have street furniture that conforms to the historic sensibility of an area was first mooted by Lambah, in 1998, to the Mumbai Metropolitan Region Development Authority (MMRDA), which had set up a heritage conservation society. “We felt the beauty of the heritage should be maintained in the existing fashion,” says G. S. Pantbalekundri, who was secretary of the heritage conservation society and has since retired. Adds Lambah: “Till then, the Brihanmumbai Municipal Corporation had a standard system all over the city. So, if they were putting penguin litter bins or concrete benches, they would do it all over the city.”
Using the catalogue of the Westminister City Council in England, as a reference point, Lambah prepared a pilot project of 100m of D.N. Road. “She made a presentation and the MMRDA produced a beautiful brochure and we were convinced about the project,” says R.H. Mendonsa, the managing director of Lawrence & Mayo, which has their headquarters on D.N. Road. Following that, The Citizen’s Association of D.N. Road took it upon themselves to make it a stakeholder-driven project; the shopkeepers contributed for every stretch of railing or litterbin along their stretch. “There are about 20 banks on this road, and they were all keen in the beautification,” says Mendonsa. So far, for 500m of renovation, it has cost Rs 30 lakh. To complete the western side of D.N. Road, the MMRDA has promised to defray 25 per cent of the expenses while the rest will again come from local fund-raising.
However, when you look at the railings and the dustbins on D.N. Road, it is clearly fading and losing its attractiveness. “In five years, it has not been painted once,” says Lambah. “The BMC should take up some responsibility. In other parts of the world, the municipal corporation gives a coat of epoxy paint on street furniture every six months. How long will the citizens keep pitching in?” Interestingly, the street furniture has won the UNESCO Asia Pacific Award of Merit for 2004 because it was one of the earliest street furniture done by a private agency in Asia.
Further away, in Walkeshwar, on the stretch from Chowpathy to Raj Bhavan on Marine Drive, steel benches, some with a back-rest, some without, have been set up. On the evening of Republic Day, there are plenty of people who are sauntering about on the promenade, their spirits high because of the mid-week holiday, and quite a few who are sitting on the steel benches. The steel gleamed in the evening sun and the words Jindal Foundation could be seen on one side. “Earlier, there used to be concrete benches and it had completely rusted. The seats were all broken and damaged,” says Lambah. “Every time, the government would install something, they would use low-quality material and it would corrode within six months because of the high salt content.”
Lambah received support from Sangita Jindal of the Jindal Foundation. “I wanted to set an example to the government that street furniture should not always be of a low quality,” says Sangita. So Lambah was encouraged to go in for high quality stainless steel in combination with slame-finished granite. “We wanted to put up something which would last,” says Lambah. Three years have gone past and the benches still look as good as new.
Bespectacled Vipul Rane, 27, an IT engineer, is sitting on one of the benches. “The design looks good,” he says. “It is comfortable and durable. When people see concrete benches, they always try to chip off part of the cement.” Rane suggests that these benches should be replicated all over the city. “However, the BMC should keep an eye,” he says, “as drug addicts will try and steal them.”
A little ahead of Rane sit two young PR professionals, Arushi Agarwal and Poonam Nikam, both 24, leaning back and placing their legs on the parapet. They are, however, not too excited by the design. “The concrete benches were better because they had a different feel,” says Arushi.
Agrees Poonam: “These steel benches give a very upmarket look but this is actually just a place to chill out. I guess, we have been so used to the other type of benches, it is going to take time to get used to the new ones.”
What is street furniture?
Street furniture is a collective term for objects and pieces of equipment installed on streets and roads for various purposes, includingbenches, post boxes, phone boxes, streetlamps, street lighting, traffic lights,bus stops, taxi stands, fountains and waste receptacles. An important consideration in the design of street furniture is how it affects road safety.
Street furniture itself has become as much a part of many nations' identities as dialects and national events, so much so that one can usually recognise the location by their design; famous examples include:
The red telephone boxes of Britain
The residential post boxes of the US
The street lamps and metro entrances in ParisSource: Wikipedia
Hello, hello, please come
Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained from Hindustan Times
Audiences are wooed assiduously to participate in the numerous shows on television
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
The moment Amitabh Bachchan steps onto the Kaun Banega Crorepati 2 set, at Filmcity, on a Wednesday afternoon, the audience bursts into sustained applause. And what an audience it is: they range from giggly teenagers to excited middle-aged men and women to stoic elderly folk. For most, this is the first time they are seeing Bachchan in the flesh.
Like the effervescent airhostess, Shivani Bandekar, who says, “I have only come to see Amitabh Bachchan.” Or the smiling banker Kishore P., who says, “A friend in Star Plus gave me a pass.” Or Dilip Kumar Jadhav, who has come all the way from Jharkhand: “My brother is a cook on the sets and gave me a pass. It is an easy quiz. Till Rs 3.2 lakh, you should have no problem.” Or the calm TCS software engineer T.S. Prasanna, who says, “The set is really good.”
But KBC2 is an exception, when it comes to audience participation. “Three years ago, people were dying to participate in any show,” says Nisha Kothari, a freelance coordinator who arranges audiences for shows. “That has changed because there are so many shows now and lots of people have gone for them. The novelty value has worn off. People have become choosy.”
Says Bindu Harmishah, another coordinator: “Earlier, those coming as studio audience were curious to see artistes at close quarters. Now, they want to be paid.”
So channels, nowadays, to woo audiences, provide transport and snacks and pay the audience if the shooting is for several hours. “If the studio gives us money, we pay around Rs 500 a day but they have to work a minimum of eight hours,” says Harmishah. “Most of the time, the demand is for younger people.”
For Nach Baliye, the show needs a lot of clapping and screaming, which young people do with élan. Says Pinky Thakkar, (21), an audience participant in Nach Baliye, “Even though the hours are long, we don’t feel tired at all. I go for the fun of it.”
So how does one become a member of the audience? One way is to get in touch with the channel and express your interest. Then they will pass your name to their coordinators. Or you can send an e-mail. Says Smita Sharma, a coordinator at a business channel: “When people respond to our shows, we build up a database. We call them and ask whether they are interested in taking part.” She gets in touch two days in advance and if there is a group of people coming from a particular place, transport is provided.
Harmishah goes to the various clubs in the city and puts up advertisements. “When people show an interest, we interview them and do a final selection,” she says. She has several categories of audiences: a dancing audience, a smart audience, an intelligent audience and an audience, which can speak in English.
Coming back to KBC2, Karun Prabhakaran, director, operations, Synergy Communications, which is producing the show for Star Plus, explains the audience break-up: “During the weekends, we have a good mix of MNC executives, college students, NGOs and similar organisations. During the weekdays, we have a lot of members from housing societies, women’s organisations, airforce groups, pensioners, widows and students from mass communication institutes.” Memo to other channels: get clones of Bachchan as presenter, if you want strong audience participation. I can understand how you can feel low.
Audiences are wooed assiduously to participate in the numerous shows on television
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
The moment Amitabh Bachchan steps onto the Kaun Banega Crorepati 2 set, at Filmcity, on a Wednesday afternoon, the audience bursts into sustained applause. And what an audience it is: they range from giggly teenagers to excited middle-aged men and women to stoic elderly folk. For most, this is the first time they are seeing Bachchan in the flesh.
Like the effervescent airhostess, Shivani Bandekar, who says, “I have only come to see Amitabh Bachchan.” Or the smiling banker Kishore P., who says, “A friend in Star Plus gave me a pass.” Or Dilip Kumar Jadhav, who has come all the way from Jharkhand: “My brother is a cook on the sets and gave me a pass. It is an easy quiz. Till Rs 3.2 lakh, you should have no problem.” Or the calm TCS software engineer T.S. Prasanna, who says, “The set is really good.”
But KBC2 is an exception, when it comes to audience participation. “Three years ago, people were dying to participate in any show,” says Nisha Kothari, a freelance coordinator who arranges audiences for shows. “That has changed because there are so many shows now and lots of people have gone for them. The novelty value has worn off. People have become choosy.”
Says Bindu Harmishah, another coordinator: “Earlier, those coming as studio audience were curious to see artistes at close quarters. Now, they want to be paid.”
So channels, nowadays, to woo audiences, provide transport and snacks and pay the audience if the shooting is for several hours. “If the studio gives us money, we pay around Rs 500 a day but they have to work a minimum of eight hours,” says Harmishah. “Most of the time, the demand is for younger people.”
For Nach Baliye, the show needs a lot of clapping and screaming, which young people do with élan. Says Pinky Thakkar, (21), an audience participant in Nach Baliye, “Even though the hours are long, we don’t feel tired at all. I go for the fun of it.”
So how does one become a member of the audience? One way is to get in touch with the channel and express your interest. Then they will pass your name to their coordinators. Or you can send an e-mail. Says Smita Sharma, a coordinator at a business channel: “When people respond to our shows, we build up a database. We call them and ask whether they are interested in taking part.” She gets in touch two days in advance and if there is a group of people coming from a particular place, transport is provided.
Harmishah goes to the various clubs in the city and puts up advertisements. “When people show an interest, we interview them and do a final selection,” she says. She has several categories of audiences: a dancing audience, a smart audience, an intelligent audience and an audience, which can speak in English.
Coming back to KBC2, Karun Prabhakaran, director, operations, Synergy Communications, which is producing the show for Star Plus, explains the audience break-up: “During the weekends, we have a good mix of MNC executives, college students, NGOs and similar organisations. During the weekdays, we have a lot of members from housing societies, women’s organisations, airforce groups, pensioners, widows and students from mass communication institutes.” Memo to other channels: get clones of Bachchan as presenter, if you want strong audience participation. I can understand how you can feel low.
Blue skies, open spaces
Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained from The Hindustan Times, Mumbai
Nature has a big say at the Indira Gandhi Institute of Development Research
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
When Palash Nath, (name changed), a resident student of the Indira Gandhi Institute of Development Research at Goregaon stepped out one night, he saw a leopard near the glass-paned entrance. Before he could shout out for help, the leopard, who seemed to be more scared of him, leapt through the panel, shattered the glass and escaped. “They would come regularly from the Sanjay Gandhi National Park at Borivili,” says T.V. Subramanian, the registrar of the institute. “So we had to raise the boundary walls.”
When you step into the institute, you are enveloped in a cocoon of silence; the cawing of crows is like a shout. Most blocks are connected through several layers of steps, and open corridors; the sunlight splashes on the floor and the breeze flows uninterruptedly. A plaza in the middle accentuates the sense of openness. Set on a hill, there are research and administrative blocks, a seminar complex, a library, an auditorium, a canteen and a hostel. Spread over 14 acres, the built-up area is 1.25 lakh sq. ft.
“The original site had an elevation of 30 metres and we wanted to retain that,” says architect Uttam C. Jain. “We have cut the earth to a minimum. Nowadays, people bulldoze everything and make it flat. But I have always respected nature.”
Asked about the brief given by the owners, the Reserve Bank of India, Jain says, “I was told that the institute was not for Mumbai or Delhi, but for the whole country. So, I thought of India’s culture, history and heritage.”
For inspiration, he borrowed from the Ajanta and Ellora Caves. “The chaitya arches, which we used in the auditorium, are an inspiration from the Ajanta Caves. In chaitya arches, both sides are balanced. But in the arches we used in the auditorium, because of technology, we could use non-symmetrical arches. In our thinking, we were traditional but in our working we became contemporary.”
On a sultry Wednesday morning, students Abhinav Thakur and Soumyadeep Mukhopadhyay are sitting on a low ledge outside the canteen during a break in classes.
“The interaction between the buildings and nature is superb,” says Mukhopadhyay. “Most buildings in the city have a closed-in feeling. That is absent here.”
Says Thakur: “This is an unique design. “When you go for a walk at 8 pm or when you go into the library, you can sense it is a different type of environment.”
However, not everything is hunky dory. Diana George, the administrative officer, who has been working at the institute for two decades, says that since the institute is open on all sides, the water falls on the corridor during the rainy season and it becomes very slippery and dangerous. “Sometimes, the water enters the rooms,” she adds. “Also, the central plaza is covered with fungus and moss and is unusable throughout the rainy season.” Despite these hiccups, the institute is regarded as Jain’s best work and it won the Journal of the Indian Institute of Architecture award for institutional buildings in 1991. At 72, Jain still puts in the hours at his fourth floor office at Nariman Point. His eyes shine with integrity and passion; he is a man driven by moral values and love for architecture. In his four-decade career, he has built primary schools, lecture theatres, a printing press, university buildings, beach resorts, libraries, hotels, tourist complexes, swimming pools, railway stations, apartments and a cloth market. A winner of the Indian Institute of Architects Baburao Mhatre Gold Medal in 1991 for outstanding contribution to architecture, he is also a keen photographer and has had held several exhibitions. Recently, he published a book, Manyness of Mumbai, which are photographs and thoughts about the city; the love for Mumbai comes through clearly.
Nature has a big say at the Indira Gandhi Institute of Development Research
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
When Palash Nath, (name changed), a resident student of the Indira Gandhi Institute of Development Research at Goregaon stepped out one night, he saw a leopard near the glass-paned entrance. Before he could shout out for help, the leopard, who seemed to be more scared of him, leapt through the panel, shattered the glass and escaped. “They would come regularly from the Sanjay Gandhi National Park at Borivili,” says T.V. Subramanian, the registrar of the institute. “So we had to raise the boundary walls.”
When you step into the institute, you are enveloped in a cocoon of silence; the cawing of crows is like a shout. Most blocks are connected through several layers of steps, and open corridors; the sunlight splashes on the floor and the breeze flows uninterruptedly. A plaza in the middle accentuates the sense of openness. Set on a hill, there are research and administrative blocks, a seminar complex, a library, an auditorium, a canteen and a hostel. Spread over 14 acres, the built-up area is 1.25 lakh sq. ft.
“The original site had an elevation of 30 metres and we wanted to retain that,” says architect Uttam C. Jain. “We have cut the earth to a minimum. Nowadays, people bulldoze everything and make it flat. But I have always respected nature.”
Asked about the brief given by the owners, the Reserve Bank of India, Jain says, “I was told that the institute was not for Mumbai or Delhi, but for the whole country. So, I thought of India’s culture, history and heritage.”
For inspiration, he borrowed from the Ajanta and Ellora Caves. “The chaitya arches, which we used in the auditorium, are an inspiration from the Ajanta Caves. In chaitya arches, both sides are balanced. But in the arches we used in the auditorium, because of technology, we could use non-symmetrical arches. In our thinking, we were traditional but in our working we became contemporary.”
On a sultry Wednesday morning, students Abhinav Thakur and Soumyadeep Mukhopadhyay are sitting on a low ledge outside the canteen during a break in classes.
“The interaction between the buildings and nature is superb,” says Mukhopadhyay. “Most buildings in the city have a closed-in feeling. That is absent here.”
Says Thakur: “This is an unique design. “When you go for a walk at 8 pm or when you go into the library, you can sense it is a different type of environment.”
However, not everything is hunky dory. Diana George, the administrative officer, who has been working at the institute for two decades, says that since the institute is open on all sides, the water falls on the corridor during the rainy season and it becomes very slippery and dangerous. “Sometimes, the water enters the rooms,” she adds. “Also, the central plaza is covered with fungus and moss and is unusable throughout the rainy season.” Despite these hiccups, the institute is regarded as Jain’s best work and it won the Journal of the Indian Institute of Architecture award for institutional buildings in 1991. At 72, Jain still puts in the hours at his fourth floor office at Nariman Point. His eyes shine with integrity and passion; he is a man driven by moral values and love for architecture. In his four-decade career, he has built primary schools, lecture theatres, a printing press, university buildings, beach resorts, libraries, hotels, tourist complexes, swimming pools, railway stations, apartments and a cloth market. A winner of the Indian Institute of Architects Baburao Mhatre Gold Medal in 1991 for outstanding contribution to architecture, he is also a keen photographer and has had held several exhibitions. Recently, he published a book, Manyness of Mumbai, which are photographs and thoughts about the city; the love for Mumbai comes through clearly.
Leading from the front
Permission to republish this article has to be obtained from The Hindustan Times
Ajit Wadekar transformed a has-been team into winners
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
In Ajit Wadekar’s autobiography, My Cricketing Years, there is a picture of Sunil Gavaskar and him strolling down a London street during the 1971 tour. Wadekar, unlike Gavaskar, was impeccably dressed in a well-pressed suit, holding an umbrella above their heads, and the look on his face was one of supreme confidence. He was leadership personified. So, it was no surprise that during that tour, India had its first series win over England in England.
Ajit Wadekar, known as ‘Professor’ in cricketing circles, has always been regarded as a master tactician. Standing in the slips, he would silently plot the downfall of the batsman. And he would, in the midst of all this brainwork, take some splendid catches of the feared bowling quartet of Bhagwat Chandrasekhar, E.A.S. Prasanna, Bishen Singh Bedi and S. Venkataraghavan. When asked about the qualities of a good captain, he said, “A captain has to plan for every ball. Strategies planned at team meetings are all fine but on the field, things are changing all the time. For example, the batsman might suddenly become aggressive. So, the captain has to change his bowling permutations, so that he can get wickets. He should also be able to read the wicket accurately every morning, before the day’s play, so that he can fine-tune his strategy.”
A captain, he continued, also has to get the boys to gel together, as a team. “They come from different cultures and from different corners of the country. You have to nurture the will to win among them,” he said.
Wadekar was a stylish left-handed batsman, and when India arrived in England, during that famous 1971 tour, the players knew the biggest threat was the tall, burly, fast bowler John Snow. And, as captain, he led from the front. The first four bouncers that Snow hurled at him, he struck it for boundaries. The message was not lost on his teammates in the dressing room. And if you want to know how cool he was, under pressure, think of this: on the last day of the pivotal third Test against England at The Oval, he got run out first ball after scoring 45 and when he returned to the pavilion he told Gundappa Vishwanath and Farokh Engineer that they would have to get the 173 runs for victory, come what may. Thereafter, he went to sleep on the massage table only to be awoken by England manager Ken Barrington who told him that India had won. Wadekar’s classic reply: “Who asked you to wake me up? I knew we were going to win.”
It was an epochal triumph. The nation embraced the team in a tight grasp. There were felicitation functions galore and a motorcade from the airport to the Cricket Club of India in Mumbai. “There were lakhs of people on the road,” remembered Wadekar. “It was one of the most unforgettable moments of my life. I don’t think any other Indian cricket team received this honour.”
Earlier, under his captaincy, India had defeated the West Indies in the West Indies. Whenever India played in the West Indies, they would get mauled. This time, also, it was expected to be a brownwash. But the captain had other ideas. “We did our homework,” said Wadekar. “We realised that the Windies players loved to play their strokes, so we thought of ways to curb it. We also realised our fielding had to be superb, because dropped catches meant the batsmen would go on to hit big scores.”
Wadekar was also not averse in trying to score a psychological point or two. In the Test, at Sabina Park, he was the first Indian captain to enforce a follow-on. Garfield Sobers, the West Indian captain, looked surprised when Wadekar told him about the decision. “Are you sure?” he asked. Wadekar’s reply was a calm, “I am absolutely sure.” Even though the match was drawn, India had gained that vital mental edge. And they went on to win the series 1-0, with a win in the second Test at Port of Spain, thanks to Dilip Sardesai’s and Sunil Gavaskar’s batting, among other exploits. Later, when India went to England, the players had the self-belief that they could win. In 1972, when England toured the subcontinent, India won the series, 2-1, to register back-to-back wins.
But such is the fickleness of the Indian public, that three years later, when as captain, Wadekar suffered three heavy successive defeats against England in England, during the three-Test series, there were demonstrations outside his home and he was stripped of the captaincy of Mumbai and India. Soon after, he retired from cricket, at 33. Years later, a philosophical Wadekar would say, “When you are playing for India, you have to take all this in your stride.” Incidentally, in the four years he captained the Mumbai team, they won the Ranji Trophy three times, thus enabling the state to win for 16 years consecutively. Wadekar was in the team all along. Thereafter, he had a stint as an administrator in the Mumbai Cricket Association, and was the manager of the Indian team that toured South Africa in 1992, which India lost. But he rebuilt his reputation when India won in Sri Lanka for the first time and in the four years he was at the helm, the team never lost at home. So the man has done it all: player, captain, manager, chairman of selectors, administrator, columnist and an executive director with the State Bank of India. His name is etched in gold in Indian cricket history. He showed us we need not lose whenever we played abroad; it was an indirect lesson in character-building for Indians, still coming to terms with the 200 years of white rule, which had ended just 24 years ago. If there is one thing the 64-year old would like to change in his impressive CV, it would be his birthday: April Fool’s Day.
Ajit Wadekar transformed a has-been team into winners
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
In Ajit Wadekar’s autobiography, My Cricketing Years, there is a picture of Sunil Gavaskar and him strolling down a London street during the 1971 tour. Wadekar, unlike Gavaskar, was impeccably dressed in a well-pressed suit, holding an umbrella above their heads, and the look on his face was one of supreme confidence. He was leadership personified. So, it was no surprise that during that tour, India had its first series win over England in England.
Ajit Wadekar, known as ‘Professor’ in cricketing circles, has always been regarded as a master tactician. Standing in the slips, he would silently plot the downfall of the batsman. And he would, in the midst of all this brainwork, take some splendid catches of the feared bowling quartet of Bhagwat Chandrasekhar, E.A.S. Prasanna, Bishen Singh Bedi and S. Venkataraghavan. When asked about the qualities of a good captain, he said, “A captain has to plan for every ball. Strategies planned at team meetings are all fine but on the field, things are changing all the time. For example, the batsman might suddenly become aggressive. So, the captain has to change his bowling permutations, so that he can get wickets. He should also be able to read the wicket accurately every morning, before the day’s play, so that he can fine-tune his strategy.”
A captain, he continued, also has to get the boys to gel together, as a team. “They come from different cultures and from different corners of the country. You have to nurture the will to win among them,” he said.
Wadekar was a stylish left-handed batsman, and when India arrived in England, during that famous 1971 tour, the players knew the biggest threat was the tall, burly, fast bowler John Snow. And, as captain, he led from the front. The first four bouncers that Snow hurled at him, he struck it for boundaries. The message was not lost on his teammates in the dressing room. And if you want to know how cool he was, under pressure, think of this: on the last day of the pivotal third Test against England at The Oval, he got run out first ball after scoring 45 and when he returned to the pavilion he told Gundappa Vishwanath and Farokh Engineer that they would have to get the 173 runs for victory, come what may. Thereafter, he went to sleep on the massage table only to be awoken by England manager Ken Barrington who told him that India had won. Wadekar’s classic reply: “Who asked you to wake me up? I knew we were going to win.”
It was an epochal triumph. The nation embraced the team in a tight grasp. There were felicitation functions galore and a motorcade from the airport to the Cricket Club of India in Mumbai. “There were lakhs of people on the road,” remembered Wadekar. “It was one of the most unforgettable moments of my life. I don’t think any other Indian cricket team received this honour.”
Earlier, under his captaincy, India had defeated the West Indies in the West Indies. Whenever India played in the West Indies, they would get mauled. This time, also, it was expected to be a brownwash. But the captain had other ideas. “We did our homework,” said Wadekar. “We realised that the Windies players loved to play their strokes, so we thought of ways to curb it. We also realised our fielding had to be superb, because dropped catches meant the batsmen would go on to hit big scores.”
Wadekar was also not averse in trying to score a psychological point or two. In the Test, at Sabina Park, he was the first Indian captain to enforce a follow-on. Garfield Sobers, the West Indian captain, looked surprised when Wadekar told him about the decision. “Are you sure?” he asked. Wadekar’s reply was a calm, “I am absolutely sure.” Even though the match was drawn, India had gained that vital mental edge. And they went on to win the series 1-0, with a win in the second Test at Port of Spain, thanks to Dilip Sardesai’s and Sunil Gavaskar’s batting, among other exploits. Later, when India went to England, the players had the self-belief that they could win. In 1972, when England toured the subcontinent, India won the series, 2-1, to register back-to-back wins.
But such is the fickleness of the Indian public, that three years later, when as captain, Wadekar suffered three heavy successive defeats against England in England, during the three-Test series, there were demonstrations outside his home and he was stripped of the captaincy of Mumbai and India. Soon after, he retired from cricket, at 33. Years later, a philosophical Wadekar would say, “When you are playing for India, you have to take all this in your stride.” Incidentally, in the four years he captained the Mumbai team, they won the Ranji Trophy three times, thus enabling the state to win for 16 years consecutively. Wadekar was in the team all along. Thereafter, he had a stint as an administrator in the Mumbai Cricket Association, and was the manager of the Indian team that toured South Africa in 1992, which India lost. But he rebuilt his reputation when India won in Sri Lanka for the first time and in the four years he was at the helm, the team never lost at home. So the man has done it all: player, captain, manager, chairman of selectors, administrator, columnist and an executive director with the State Bank of India. His name is etched in gold in Indian cricket history. He showed us we need not lose whenever we played abroad; it was an indirect lesson in character-building for Indians, still coming to terms with the 200 years of white rule, which had ended just 24 years ago. If there is one thing the 64-year old would like to change in his impressive CV, it would be his birthday: April Fool’s Day.
All’s well that ends well
Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained from The Hindustan Times
The stained glass panels of the Bhikha Behram well have been restored to its old splendour
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
Unless you keep your eyes peeled out, you are bound to miss the Bhikha Behram well, a holy spot for Parsis, because of the overflowing crowds on the sidewalk of Veer Nariman Road. After entering through the small wicker gate, you encounter a row of benches, painted a bright green, a couple of trees with overhanging branches, and the well, which is 280 years old. And, right above, is the stained glass panels, now restored to its former glory.
In March 2004, vandals had entered the well at night and destroyed the panels. No arrests have been made so far. In June last year, the trust decided to restore the panels; a wealthy devotee offered to bear the expenses and the commission was given to Hema Desai, a fusion and original stained glass creator. “We gave her photographs of the images of the original panel and asked her to recreate them,” says Dr. Viraf Kapadia, a trustee of the well.
At her workshop in Sewri, Desai enlarged the photographs on the computer and drew them to scale on a large, white paper. Then artists at her workshop cut the glass according to the image on the paper. “The glass is imported from USA and Germany,” she says. “Between two different glasses, we put in imported copper foil. It is only after that it is welded together.” Because of the danger of vandalism, Desai put a thick glass in front and at the back of the panel.
At the centre of the ceiling, above the well, there was a circular opening. Desai covered it with a glass panel with a painting of the sun. “During the day, the sunlight streams in and lights up the centre of the well,” says Desai. “Since the Parsis worship the sun, I thought this would be nice.”
On the west side of the wall, there is a provision for drinking the well water for members of other communities. “More than 3000 people avail of this facility free of charge,” says Kapadia.
Parsis come in regular intervals to pray at the well. On one of the benches sits Yazdi Daruwala, a businessman from Pakistan. He had heard of the well, even in Pakistan. So, while on a visit to Mumbai, he decided to drop in for a few minutes of prayer. “I did not know it was vandalised,” he says. “The glass panels look wonderful.”
Facts about the well
It is 280 years old.
It is a Grade 1 Heritage structure
It is also used as a wishing well.
Origin: A Parsi gentleman, Bhikaji Behramji, from Broach [present-day Bharuch] had come to Mumbai to seek his fortune in 1715. He was waylaid by some Marathas who were at war with the Muslims. Imprisoned in the Pandeghard fortress, he was set free after he convinced his captors that he was a Parsi, by showing them his sudreh (religious vest) and his kushti (sacred thread). Behramji went on start a business in Angrez Bazaar, now known as Horniman Circle. Being of charitable disposition, in 1725, he sunk a well for the people and it came to be known as the Bhikha Behram well.
The stained glass panels of the Bhikha Behram well have been restored to its old splendour
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
Unless you keep your eyes peeled out, you are bound to miss the Bhikha Behram well, a holy spot for Parsis, because of the overflowing crowds on the sidewalk of Veer Nariman Road. After entering through the small wicker gate, you encounter a row of benches, painted a bright green, a couple of trees with overhanging branches, and the well, which is 280 years old. And, right above, is the stained glass panels, now restored to its former glory.
In March 2004, vandals had entered the well at night and destroyed the panels. No arrests have been made so far. In June last year, the trust decided to restore the panels; a wealthy devotee offered to bear the expenses and the commission was given to Hema Desai, a fusion and original stained glass creator. “We gave her photographs of the images of the original panel and asked her to recreate them,” says Dr. Viraf Kapadia, a trustee of the well.
At her workshop in Sewri, Desai enlarged the photographs on the computer and drew them to scale on a large, white paper. Then artists at her workshop cut the glass according to the image on the paper. “The glass is imported from USA and Germany,” she says. “Between two different glasses, we put in imported copper foil. It is only after that it is welded together.” Because of the danger of vandalism, Desai put a thick glass in front and at the back of the panel.
At the centre of the ceiling, above the well, there was a circular opening. Desai covered it with a glass panel with a painting of the sun. “During the day, the sunlight streams in and lights up the centre of the well,” says Desai. “Since the Parsis worship the sun, I thought this would be nice.”
On the west side of the wall, there is a provision for drinking the well water for members of other communities. “More than 3000 people avail of this facility free of charge,” says Kapadia.
Parsis come in regular intervals to pray at the well. On one of the benches sits Yazdi Daruwala, a businessman from Pakistan. He had heard of the well, even in Pakistan. So, while on a visit to Mumbai, he decided to drop in for a few minutes of prayer. “I did not know it was vandalised,” he says. “The glass panels look wonderful.”
Facts about the well
It is 280 years old.
It is a Grade 1 Heritage structure
It is also used as a wishing well.
Origin: A Parsi gentleman, Bhikaji Behramji, from Broach [present-day Bharuch] had come to Mumbai to seek his fortune in 1715. He was waylaid by some Marathas who were at war with the Muslims. Imprisoned in the Pandeghard fortress, he was set free after he convinced his captors that he was a Parsi, by showing them his sudreh (religious vest) and his kushti (sacred thread). Behramji went on start a business in Angrez Bazaar, now known as Horniman Circle. Being of charitable disposition, in 1725, he sunk a well for the people and it came to be known as the Bhikha Behram well.
Friday, January 06, 2006
Sex and the Indian man and woman
Permission to reprint this article has to be obtained from The Hindustan Times
Mumbai has the only outpatient department for sex in the world
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
a) Anand and Rohini Mhatre are a demure couple. He is swarthy looking, with broad shoulders and a thick moustache while she is slim, with a round face and a necklace of black beads around her neck. They have been married for four years and have not been able to consummate the marriage. The problem: Anand (28) suffers from premature ejaculation or early orgasm. As for Rohini, (20), she has never masturbated and has no idea of the sex act. The couple are desperate for a solution.
b) Ashok Desai, (39), has been married for just four months. He also has not consummated his marriage but for a different reason: he is a homosexual and feels no attraction towards his wife. From childhood, he has been turned on by males and would masturbate thinking about boys. When the proposal for marriage came up, a friend told him his sexual orientation would change after marriage. But that did not happen and now he does not know what to do. He told his wife he is going through some mental problems and she replied she was willing to wait till his problems are solved. So, they sleep next to each other, like brother and sister.
c) Ramesh Sharma (52) has been married for 30 years. From his wedding night, whenever he inserted his penis, within three strokes, he would ejaculate.
All of them are present at the department of sexual medicine at KEM Hospital. This is the only department of its kind in a country of more than one billion people and the only outpatient department for sexual dysfunction in the world. Around 60 patients--men, couples and homosexuals--have come on this rainy Wednesday afternoon to find a solution to the problems, which have been affecting their sex lives.
Dr Prakash Kothari does one-on-one interviews with new cases. For males, he asks four questions: whether they have desire, erection, penetration and orgasm. For women, it is desire, lubrication, penetration and orgasm. The answers to these questions will immediately guide him to the problems faced by the patients. Mostly, the men suffer from premature ejaculation, erectile dysfunction (impotency) or worries about penis size. For women, it is the inability to achieve orgasm.
Thereafter, he invites the group inside the clinic for a slide show. There are ten slides shown, mostly of the penis and the vagina. He says the penis, which is neither a muscle nor a bone, needs a good inflow of blood to function at its best. He clears the many misconceptions about masturbation especially the perennial one about one drop of semen equalling hundred drops of blood. “Nobody becomes weaker because of masturbation,” he says. “It is similar to intercourse. In one, you insert your penis inside a vagina, in the other you insert it in the palm of your hand.”
He talks about the bent penis, another common cause of anxiety among men. Everybody, he says, has a penis that is slightly bent, either to the left or the right. “Even Eros, the God of love, cannot have an erection at a 90 degree angle,” he says. “Whether left or right, the main thing is to penetrate.”
With his confident tone and reassuring smile, the doctor gives the impression that the problems can be solved easily. He says most men have early orgasms because they get too excited. For some men, the sensation in the glans is too intense. Sometimes, the onset of diabetes affects the penis. On rare occasions, performance is affected if there is an infection in the prostrate gland. “The solution,” says Kothari, “is a healthy lifestyle: avoid drink, smoking and stress.”
The treatment, once a week, is spread over a month. In the first week, the history of the patient is taken. In the second, is the audio presentation where myths and misconceptions are cleared. In the third week, there is a physical examination, while treatment begins from the fourth week onwards.
The patients, especially the men, listen to Kothari with rapt attention. The scales of incomprehension are visibly falling from their eyes. This is probably the first time they are attending a session like this. For years, they have suffered from misconceptions, fears, penis size worry and early orgasm. Now, there is light at the end of the tunnel, some way to understand what has been hampering their performance in bed. They belong mostly to the middle and lower classes, ranging in age from the twenties to the fifties.
Kothari suddenly looks up and says, “It is your duty to provide satisfaction to your partner. Will you promise to do that?”
The audience intones: “We promise.”
“Remember,” he says, “There is no expiry date for sex. Recently, a 92-year-old man came for consultation. You can have sex till your last breath.”
Different queries, same quest
People of different states find out whether sexual satisfaction has been obtained
Samadhan (Maharashtra): Are you settled or not?
Sukh (Gujarat): Are you happy or not?
Tasalli (Punjab): Have you enjoyed it?
Majo ayo (Sindhi): Did you enjoy it?
Trupti (Tamil Nadu): Are you satisfied?
Santrupti (Andhra Pradesh): Have you had ultimate satisfaction?
Mumbai has the only outpatient department for sex in the world
Shevlin Sebastian
Mumbai
a) Anand and Rohini Mhatre are a demure couple. He is swarthy looking, with broad shoulders and a thick moustache while she is slim, with a round face and a necklace of black beads around her neck. They have been married for four years and have not been able to consummate the marriage. The problem: Anand (28) suffers from premature ejaculation or early orgasm. As for Rohini, (20), she has never masturbated and has no idea of the sex act. The couple are desperate for a solution.
b) Ashok Desai, (39), has been married for just four months. He also has not consummated his marriage but for a different reason: he is a homosexual and feels no attraction towards his wife. From childhood, he has been turned on by males and would masturbate thinking about boys. When the proposal for marriage came up, a friend told him his sexual orientation would change after marriage. But that did not happen and now he does not know what to do. He told his wife he is going through some mental problems and she replied she was willing to wait till his problems are solved. So, they sleep next to each other, like brother and sister.
c) Ramesh Sharma (52) has been married for 30 years. From his wedding night, whenever he inserted his penis, within three strokes, he would ejaculate.
All of them are present at the department of sexual medicine at KEM Hospital. This is the only department of its kind in a country of more than one billion people and the only outpatient department for sexual dysfunction in the world. Around 60 patients--men, couples and homosexuals--have come on this rainy Wednesday afternoon to find a solution to the problems, which have been affecting their sex lives.
Dr Prakash Kothari does one-on-one interviews with new cases. For males, he asks four questions: whether they have desire, erection, penetration and orgasm. For women, it is desire, lubrication, penetration and orgasm. The answers to these questions will immediately guide him to the problems faced by the patients. Mostly, the men suffer from premature ejaculation, erectile dysfunction (impotency) or worries about penis size. For women, it is the inability to achieve orgasm.
Thereafter, he invites the group inside the clinic for a slide show. There are ten slides shown, mostly of the penis and the vagina. He says the penis, which is neither a muscle nor a bone, needs a good inflow of blood to function at its best. He clears the many misconceptions about masturbation especially the perennial one about one drop of semen equalling hundred drops of blood. “Nobody becomes weaker because of masturbation,” he says. “It is similar to intercourse. In one, you insert your penis inside a vagina, in the other you insert it in the palm of your hand.”
He talks about the bent penis, another common cause of anxiety among men. Everybody, he says, has a penis that is slightly bent, either to the left or the right. “Even Eros, the God of love, cannot have an erection at a 90 degree angle,” he says. “Whether left or right, the main thing is to penetrate.”
With his confident tone and reassuring smile, the doctor gives the impression that the problems can be solved easily. He says most men have early orgasms because they get too excited. For some men, the sensation in the glans is too intense. Sometimes, the onset of diabetes affects the penis. On rare occasions, performance is affected if there is an infection in the prostrate gland. “The solution,” says Kothari, “is a healthy lifestyle: avoid drink, smoking and stress.”
The treatment, once a week, is spread over a month. In the first week, the history of the patient is taken. In the second, is the audio presentation where myths and misconceptions are cleared. In the third week, there is a physical examination, while treatment begins from the fourth week onwards.
The patients, especially the men, listen to Kothari with rapt attention. The scales of incomprehension are visibly falling from their eyes. This is probably the first time they are attending a session like this. For years, they have suffered from misconceptions, fears, penis size worry and early orgasm. Now, there is light at the end of the tunnel, some way to understand what has been hampering their performance in bed. They belong mostly to the middle and lower classes, ranging in age from the twenties to the fifties.
Kothari suddenly looks up and says, “It is your duty to provide satisfaction to your partner. Will you promise to do that?”
The audience intones: “We promise.”
“Remember,” he says, “There is no expiry date for sex. Recently, a 92-year-old man came for consultation. You can have sex till your last breath.”
Different queries, same quest
People of different states find out whether sexual satisfaction has been obtained
Samadhan (Maharashtra): Are you settled or not?
Sukh (Gujarat): Are you happy or not?
Tasalli (Punjab): Have you enjoyed it?
Majo ayo (Sindhi): Did you enjoy it?
Trupti (Tamil Nadu): Are you satisfied?
Santrupti (Andhra Pradesh): Have you had ultimate satisfaction?
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